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except for head bobbing while Simmons brushes him and picks his feet. “Alright, that’s enough,” Simmons continues his one-sided conversation. “Back in.”
Simmons next mounts the farm’s ancient pickup truck to make rounds of feeding older or convalescing horses in farflung pastures around the large farm. The horses stand in orderly rows awaiting their feed at each stop. “You’ll get yours, just wait a minute,” Simmons tells a pushy bay gelding. The horse backs off, just like that. The mutual respect is clear. “There ya’ go.” Simmons pats the horse’s rump as he leaves the field for his next stop.
Winter has a slower pace than summer at Sunny Bank, Simmons said. Cattle are still fed, but there are no crops to plant, no hay to bring in, not even a garden to tend. “I love my garden,” Simmons said. “You shoulda’ seen the cukes last year. We had a helluva crop. “
“I’m usually done by lunchtime,” he says. “Things are quiet again in the afternoon for a few hours after the horses get their lunch.”
Simmons relishes his own lunch at Magpies, his favorite
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